Stockholm Syndrome
by ItalicsToBold
Summary: A thrilling and twisted take on Akito Sohma, a depraved man that takes an eighteen year old girl captive for reasons unknown. She should hate him for stealing her from her family, robbing her of a normal life full of hopes and dreams. But somehow, she hurts along with him. A tale of what it means to be human, to love, and the right and wrong ways to cope with pain.
1. Prologue

**Stockholm Syndrome**

 **Prologue**

I had high hopes for my eighteenth birthday.

It was supposed to be frills and thrills, sweet enough to give you a tooth ache and still come back for more. I wasn't typically the party type. But I had a handful of persistent friends that were both bossy and kind enough to drag me along for a day that was all about me. Which was a major deal considering my parents were constantly drowning in work as co-owners of a multi-billion yen company, and couldn't be troubled to spend more than money on me.

But the thing is, we were out from day to night. From shopping spree to club hopping. And for the night at club _Venom_ , I donned my birthday sash and crown, slipped into the sexiest little black dress I owned, and wore my louboutin red bottoms. The ideal outfit for stepping out and showing up to any event illegally gorgeous.

But it took an hour...maybe two hours, for things to go sideways.

A man not much older than me took the stool closest to me, ordering me a drink from the eye candy that was the bar tender. It was a long island ice tea. Something I knew was alcoholic and was sure to fan the flames of the shots of tequila I'd already done with Uo. But through booze goggles, this man was everything I've been looking for my _entire_ life.

His hair was the very shade of my favorite bird, like the refined dark feathers of a raven. And his eyes were a shrewd onyx, so flooded with mystery and classic intrigue that I wanted to stare into them forever. His body was slender and _oh_ was it like a fine wine. I'm certain it would get better with time. He seemed like the type to age beautifully. I couldn't help but smile as the long day and tequila made my eyes heavy, though my body was waking up as he trailed his fingertips along my upper thigh and offered me an enticing smirk.

I allow a small sigh of pleasure to slip past my lipstick stained lips, wanting to encourage him to speak to me in more than just the whisper of his fingertips against my skin. I craved his secrets, his interests...his past. I could never help myself when in the presence of the tall, dark, and handsome. I liked my boys bad.

"Where might you be from?" He purrs, the promise of a wild night pouring into me through the connection of our shared gaze. "You look far too exotic to be a Tokyo native."

I giggle and playfully shove him, allowing my foot to brush against his as I cross one leg over the other. One of my many signature flirt tactics.

"Little old me? What makes you say that?"

"It must be your eyes," he says, turning briefly to receive my drink and hand it to me. "They're bluer than the depths of the ocean. And I've seen _many_ oceans in my lifetime."

He was edgy and smooth.

Is it just me, or did anyone else get chills?

I smile, putting the straw between my lips and once again meeting his stare. He watches me take a long taste of a drink I've never tried but have heard good things about, his features darkening as lust enters stage right. I let it slide from my lips with a pop, feeling the fire burning brightly in my belly as I realize I've found my challenge for the evening.

Getting his number.

"Thank you," I say, angling my body to show that I was far from hostile, and was open to hearing more of what he thought.

Much to my surprise, while maintaining eye-contact, he leans forward and takes my straw into his mouth, swallowing a couple of gulps of my drink. Rosiness colors my cheeks from the suggestiveness of the act, watching him set my glass down on the bar and rest his elbow on it.

"I call things as I see them. And I'm hopelessly blunt about the things that I notice. Like how heartbreakingly beautiful you look."

My pulse whirs to life with his words, my brain aware of the numerous girls that must have heard the same things he's saying now, but my body not really caring if I were the first or the last to listen.

I shrug, drawing attention to my bare shoulders while conveying nonchalance. "You know, they say that flattery gets you nowhere. But I happen to think it looks pretty good on you."

He smiles at this.

And I mirror his expression, completely blind to his hidden agenda as we continued on in our flirty banter. Eventually, the night dipped into early morning and my friends faded into the background as my mind grew drenched in fog. The club's deafening music drifted off into a lullaby as colors teetered between vibrant and washed out, the sensation of my body against his loud as we danced as intimately as two people could dance.

But the next morning...

Came the hangover nightmares were made of.

I heard the distant sound of rattling metal, accompanied by something harsh and painful digging into the sensitive skin of my wrists. Lost and confused, I force my eyes open though I desperately wanted to shut out the light. And my brain begins to work overtime when I register the handcuffs that latched onto my wrists and chained me to a headboard's bed posts. As I attempted to wriggle free, I felt the brush of the comforter against my bare chest and legs. A strangled scream explodes past my lips as fear assaults me, on top of the thumping surround sound of my headache.

Just where was I?

* * *

 **Akito is a female in the canon version, so...consider this a gender-bend. Because in this particular story, he's all male.**

 **This year I will be completely stepping out of my comfort zone and branching out, writing different things you've never seen from me, though I hope you enjoy them all the same.**

 **For those of you that know what Stockholm Syndrome is, you might have an idea of what's to come. And for those of you that don't, well...you're in for a wild ride. :)**

 **See you for the first chapter! :D**


	2. Chapter 1: Tiny Dancer

**Chapter One: Tiny Dancer**

It was like being in an acid wonderland, a trippy place where nothing was the right shade, the room spun as my vision swam with each swift turn of my head. It was so quiet that my thoughts boomed. Like a song with extra bass and an overwhelming voice. And it would be quite the feat if I walked away from here with my sanity still intact with how the pain of silence was equivalent to grandma nails on a chalkboard.

Just when I thought I'd about od' on a cocktail of panic, boredom, and madness, a classical piece streams through the space between the door and the floor. My ears perk up with the sound. Its like a full on symphony was in the other room, conducted by the man responsible himself, though he had yet to make an appearance. It was rather rude of him considering he dedicated this piece to me. Yeah, the Vivaldi was a cute touch for the type of person I am.

I just had no clue how he found out.

"I need a ten letter word for overt and offensive sexual desire," my captor says, entering the room with a newspaper and taking a seat on the edge of the bed at my feet. "Are you any good at crossword puzzles, baby?"

I narrow my baby blues into slits, unable to speak behind the silver tape on my mouth as he scrawls on his little black and white stack of paper.

"Perhaps...lascivious," he muses, tapping his chin with his pencil. "That would make sense considering 14 across ends in an 'L.'"

The gaze that I found sexy - and is now repulsive - flicks upward to meet mine, his lips flattening into a line.

"I would let you speak if I wasn't hesitant to have you curse me out for bringing you here."

Ya don't say?

I'm tempted to acquaint myself with my surroundings to start formulating means of escape, but I'm smart enough to know that's a stupid idea with him in the room. He was clearly off his rocker to have bound me to this bed, completely naked, with no intent to set me free. But I highly doubted he was an idiot.

"You interest me," he says, placing a hand over my covered chest and making my stomach go topsy-turvey. "In your drunken state, you asked me to tie you up. Begged me. I knew you were exotic from the moment I laid eyes on you, but...to have such tastes. Its pleasing to say the least."

I almost shake my head, beginning to hate myself for falling prey to him in the first place, and disgusted by whatever I might have said or done last night. But the worse part of all of this...is the fact he's been inside me. And I don't even know what this guy's about or if we even used protection.

"Your hair, for starters." He wraps a wavy strand of my cotton candy pink tresses around his finger, twirling it until it's tautly clinging to his skin. Like pink steel wool. "Although now...I know its a dye job," he continues, glancing pointedly down at the lower half of my body still concealed.

Dying my hair such an unconventional color? Completely my doing.

It was outrageously fashion-forward, just like my eyebrow piercing. Neither were 'in' right now. But I was a trendsetter. It was something that validated me and gave me worth. I was proud of it.

Until this very moment...where he made it something to be ashamed of, just by swallowing me with a primal, animalistic look through the dark pits that were his eyes. And it was like the formiddable British empire falling, its impact felt bone deep.

"And your body," he advances, his long, almost delicate hand slowly inching the comforter down until I'm revealed to him. "You must be an athlete. Its obvious from your leg muscles..." he trails off, his palm coming to rest on my stomach before journeying to my thighs at an excruciatingly slow pace. "Just like a ballerina. You could be _my_ tiny dancer."

He had to have found out somehow, maybe from my own big mouth, and was just toying with me.

Which explained his music choice from earlier.

I didn't think he was in a mood for something that tranquil while he held me hostage like Rapaunzel. I suppose that made him Mother Gothel, then.

But seriously, who was this psychopath I had drinks with?

I command my skin to not crawl with his hands all over me, wanting desperately to escape my own body as his thumb strokes my inner thigh and sends a shiver rippling through me.

"I suppose I should feed you," he mutters, sighing deeply before standing, leaving me exposed and vulnerable to his probing gaze and the frigid temperature of the room. "It is lunch time, so what do you want?"

I roll my eyes.

"What's that?" He asks, his hand cupping his ear. "Shrimp fried rice and eggs? Okay, I'll return and we can eat together."

The moment the door closes behind me, I immediately search the room, looking for something that can give away the location or tell me more about his true identity.

The walls are completely blank. There are no pictures, paintings, or anything seemingly out of the ordinary. Except...the tick marks that decorate the wall closest to me. With each line, a new height and age are recorded, like this is his family home where he was measured throughout his childhood. Judging by his physical stature, he looked to be nineteen or in his early twenties. Based on the ages listed, this house is at least fifteen years old, which means it can't be in a district near mine as they all hold new homes.

The furniture was also outdated.

The bed I laid on looked to have been straight out of the twentieth century, composed of brass and a foofy mattress that was so uncomfortable, I felt like I was a princess and there was a pea somewhere beneath me. A mirror was attached to the ceiling above the bed, which lead to some hideous thoughts as to just what went on in this room before I arrived. A storage chest sat at the foot of the bed, two matching nightstands of the same wood material were on either side of me, dressed in dust like no one had touched them in weeks. The piece de resistance was an old dinosaur computer, presumably with crappy specs and ancient software.

I don't know what's more terrifying.

The fact that I'm nude and trapped in a psycho man's home, or the tragically old computer. Even if I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I wouldn't be caught dead with anything more than a year old. As if. With me, its either top of the line, state-of-the art, or not at all.

Obviously, this situation was far from desirable. And it would take a whole lot of brainpower, wits, and planning to stand a chance at outsmarting this man - whoever he was. While I wait for my parents to notice my absence and sic an expensive pack of private investigators on him. Yes, I will pretend to submit to him long enough that I can figure him out and leave.

Though I imagine its easier said than done.

He reenters, balancing a single plate of food that looked to be the most delicious I've ever seen. It might have been my starved stomach talking, though. With my appetite, I could _totally_ go for a horse right now. Or a planet. Or a galaxy. The thought of it being poisoned or spiked with some nasty little concoction flits through my mind as he resumes his seat beside me. But...I need to act like I want to be here. Like I'm warming up to him and his stale place. It doesn't hurt that it looks like its imported from one of my favorite restaurants in Tokyo. A hole-in-the wall, bustling hot-spot that was highly exclusive for the rich and famous. Reservations were placed a year (sometimes a year and a half) in advance, with a wait list the size of Japan.

Even through the sting of the tape being ripped from my lipstick-smeared lips, I kept my gaze trained on the meal before me as my stomach gave a welcoming grumble. I can't even remember the last time I ate something. I didn't even know what time it was because there was no clock on the wall or calendar to keep track of the dates with.

This _had_ to be worse than prison.

They had three square meals a day, cots to sleep on, _and_ they were forced to wear that tacky orange. I would still choose fashion suicide over this shack any day.

"Here," he drawls, sticking a metal spoon into the yellow rice to shovel a decent amount before poising it in front of me. "Eat up, buttercup. Here comes the plane," he taunts, swooping the spoon around like an airplane, treating me like I'm a few months old or something.

Ugh. Remind me again what I found so attractive about him?

Oh, wait...it must have been the tequila.

At least it wasn't a bout of insanity where I actually thought this creep was worth a second look. It should have been fairly obvious by his shoes that he was no good. Like, really? Who even wears shoes from that line? It was a major don't as far as I'm concerned. Now I _know_ he belongs in a spongy room and a strait jacket.

He brings it in for landing and pushes it past my lips, a few beads of the rice raining down until he extends his hand to collect the stray pieces. He runs his hands together over the plate to clean up a little before he refocuses his attention on me. And when he looks at me smugly, I realize how eager and deprived I must look. And it gave him power. Control. Because he was the one with what I needed. And he was the only one that could give it to me.

"Tell me something I want to hear, and I'll give you the next bite," he says, leaning in close and fixating his eyes on mine. "Beg for it."

 _'Bite me'_ is what I want to say. He'd probably like that, the nasty sicko.

But I have to stick to the plan. I have to play along until I'm rescued from this sick, twisted, piece of-

"Please?" I plead, biting my lip to both look genuine and to keep from calling him every bad name under the sun. "Can I have more?"

"You want more?" He echoes, a smirk curving his lips upward.

"Yes," I say, looking back to the plate of slightly steaming food.

 _Keep your eye on the prize, girl. You know how to work for what you want._

"Well," he begins, spooning up another sizable portion of rice and scrambled eggs, "Aren't you just a pretty little whore? The night before, you were begging to feel me...and taste me. You practically moaned your request for me to screw your brains out. Now you're no different." I open my mouth for him, allowing him to feed me and wait for more. "I had a goal in mind when I went to that club. But I never thought I'd find such a wanton creature as you."

I don't even want to know if he had any other victims before me. Or, if I was practice for the real thing. The mere thought completely disgusted me. And, as much as I loathe to admit it...it freaked me out, too. I have no idea what he's capable of. Even if I talk a good game about how I can handle this situation and do what most kidnap victims can't. He could be a killer. Or a rapist. And I don't even know where we are. We could be off in some secluded place that nobody knows about, far away from any law enforcement and civilization.

"You know what turns me on the most about you?" He asks, though judging by his tone, he'll tell me whether I want to hear it or not. "I couldn't help but notice your birthday sash yesterday. And after loosening you up with that drink, you sang like a canary. I found out you just turned eighteen. _Adorable_ , really."

I cease the repulsion that threatens to tear through my body at his words, a thought popping up as I register what he's implying.

Where _were_ my clothes?

Now that I think about it, in my scan of this room, I hadn't seen my dress or even my shoes.

"You're barely legal, then," he says, setting the spoon down on the half-empty dish. "Even though you're clearly not a virgin, that doesn't matter. My technique will overshadow anything those boys before me _thought_ they knew. And eventually... _my_ name will permanently be on your lips. I will show you what it truly means to be with a man."

This cocky little lowlife.

"Who are you?" I blurt out, without thinking. "You expect me to be mind-blown by the pleasure you _believe_ you can give me, and you can't even tell me that much?"

Maybe I was pushing it too far - I must not care for my life all that much to be testing the limits of his patience - but I'm going on nothing here. I need to learn as much as I can so that when it comes time to lock his butt up, I'll be able to snitch on him and make sure he's doing life in prison. He'll be forced to endure those awful jumpsuits and a sentence without parole. And I'll be curled up in bed in my designer silk pajamas, hopefully putting an end to the nightmares I'm sure to experience after this.

He cants his head to the side, using his thumb to run over my lips as he stares deeply into my eyes. Like he's attempting to decipher the motives behind my question.

"Akito," he answers, haughtily. "And I'll make sure its a name you never forget, Rosa."

He rises up off the bed, flipping open the storage and fishing something out before slinging it over his shoulder. With a resounding bang, the chest is closed, and he approaches me with some material dangling from his hands. As he rakes his lecherous eyes over my form, I force myself to ignore it when I recognize what he's holding to be a skimpy black and red number. The first article was a red tube top, paired with a midnight black mini-skirt that would barely cover anything. Even though it was _so_ last season...it wasn't too dreadful.

I guess.

"I'm going to uncuff you and leave you to get dressed," he explains, licking his lips as he continues to roam my body. "Don't bother trying to find a way out. I lock the door behind me. When you're done changing, you will be joining me in the living room for story time. I want us to read a book together."

Ew, what did he think this was?

Kindergarten for the fashionably challenged and demented?

"In the meantime, I have a crossword puzzle to tend to."

With that, he withdraws a key and undoes the metal shackle on my wrist. And just when I'm about to seize the opportunity to attack him, he leaves the other hand bound to the bed post, only having freed one.

"I trust you can dress with one hand. Unless...you want me to help you."

Oh I don't _think_ so.

"I'm fine. Thanks," I grind out, wanting to spit in his face when he smiles and turns on his heel to make his exit.

* * *

 **I have no clue how long this story will be or when it'll be updated, but I hope it turns out as insane and as fun as I planned it to be. I'm thinking somewhere along the lines of ten chapters. But that can always change as the story progresses. And Akito is normally a lot worse than he is here. But that's only because she hasn't done something to anger him. Yet. Right now, he's content to play with his new barbie doll.**

* * *

 **SweetLiars: Thank you! :) And yes, Rosa is _very_ different from my past OCs. She might seem really superficial in some moments. But there's more to her than meets the eye. You guys will come to find how sharp she can be when she works on her escape plan. At first. And I'm really glad you said that. I hope everyone is able to really push themselves and step outside of their 'box' (so to speak) and explore new territory. I'm so new to navigating this thing, but I'm impassioned about it all the same. :D**

* * *

 **Killer Disco Queen: Aye, who wouldn't? ;) And I hope ya like. I feel the first chapters are always kind of weird with how they're written. The next chapter I'll get to really have some fun. Mwahahaha!**

* * *

 **Kuramasgirl19769: Thank you! :D And that sounds fantastic. I hope you're successful with all of your endeavors. Love you, too! :)**

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 **See you all for this and Incognito's final chapters! :D Yes, I'm working on that on the down low lol**


	3. Chapter 2: Dance For Me

**Chapter Two: Dance For Me**

"Haven't you noticed how stupidly ironic the human race is?" Akito inquires, leading the way to his extravagantly designed foyer. "They're excited when their spawns say their first word, then can't wait for them to shut up once they start talking too much."

I don't even bother playing along - because he was clearly a child in a demented man's body - instead, slumping down into the couch the moment I'm able.

He daringly turns his back to me, browsing his overindulged collection of books, like he's dangling a string of yarn before a kitty kat.

That meant he was irreparably psycho and underestimated me, or there was nothing around that could be fashioned into a weapon (and I was no Mcguyver). The icing on the cake? I didn't have a clue what 'storytime' would entail, or what would follow.

And worst of all...I have chipped nail polish, and there's nothing I can do!

"What genre do you fancy?" He inquires, his tongue darting out to sweep over his lips, like the snake he is. "Romance? Thrillers? Mysteries...?"

"A psychology book," I say, dryly.

Oh how I'd love to throw it at him.

He stiffens, his entire spine erect as if he'd been zapped by lightning before inclining his body just so. His eyes slide closed as a cruel smile taints his lips, his hands coming clasped behind his back.

"Rosa, if I were you, I'd refrain from smart mouthing me in the future." He hums, his hauntingly dark eyes falling on me like laser beams, striking my heart with fear. "Unless, you don't want to see a future..."

Gosh, was I stupid?

I'm not supposed to be provoking him. I've been going about this all wrong. But it made me want to barf all over my Gadino Bag (Gadino!) at the mere thought of being civil towards him.

I hate this.

I opt to keep my lips sealed, not insulting him, but not feeding him false, sugary sweet, nonsense.

"Good girl," he remarks, like I'm a trained puppy. "I knew you could be well behaved when your life- pardon, the situation called for it." He abandons the numerous books lining the shelves, delicately seating himself beside me. Only instead of breaking out his hand cuffs and chaining me to some other tacky piece of furniture, he pulls me right into his lap, his arms trapping me to his body. Like a prison.

"Right, storytime..." He clears his throat right into my ear, before continuing. "There was once a boy; innocent, naive...happy. He only ever wanted to please his mother and be all that she wanted. If she wanted a good student, she got a son that aced every test. If she wanted a maid, he would clean the house from top to bottom. If she wanted a girl to dress up..." his arm tightens around me a fraction more, like the body of a constrictor. "...then he wore frilly bows and curtsied in his princess dress. Because he couldn't not please her. Even until the bitter end."

He smooths his hand down the back of my head, over and over, in strokes about as gentle as running a brush through tangled hair.

"And you know what happened to that boy?"

I pause, fighting to keep my sassy little mouth shut.

"That boy..." he chuckles darkly, his grip on my hair suddenly disappearing, only to reappear around my waist. "He lost his mind, descending into madness that far surpassed anything those shrinks could fix. He just couldn't stop fantasizing about stopping his mother from controlling him...telling him what he should eat, think, feel, and be...and eventually, he craved the sensation of her pulse beneath his fingertips. To feel it flicker like a dying firefly." His chin comes to rest on my shoulder, his breath inducing chills on my neck and raising the hair. "To him, it was the only thing that felt right about his existence. And do you want to know the beauty of it all?"

I don't dare shake my head no...or move...or breathe...

"He caught his first firefly in this house," he says, his voice chipper.

"He felt it die in his own hands. Just like he always wanted. He watched the light fade, felt it grow cold, and tasted freedom for the first time. And you want to know what happened next?" He asks, like an eager and engaging storyteller.

It must have been rhetorical, because he continues on anyway.

"He hid that firefly he caught. And saved it. He stuffed it somewhere behind a nook no one else knows of, watching its progress as it decayed with the age of the days. He was there for her in all the moments she pretended to be there for him. And Rosa...?"

He snatched me towards him by my hair, ruthlessly dumping his words into my ear.

"The end."

He releases me, getting to his feet and leaving me sprawled in between the cushions in his wake.

And like a child, he switches directions and lends his focus to a barre that I hadn't noticed before. And as I watched him rummage through a drawer nearby, my heart still raced, unable to piece anything together after the story he laid on me.

While my body remains in the present, my soul is torn between here and back home. With my family in our massive house. We were distant; my parents were more concerned with the upcoming stock exchange, profit projections, scraping the bottom of the barrel and letting blue collar workers go if they failed to fall at their feet in reverence. While they had a surplus of work ethic, their relationship with me suffered a deficit and lingered in the red.

Whenever I finished my studies with my private tutor, I waited for her to be completely out the door before racing upstairs to reach my parents bedroom - two whole stories separate from mine. And knowing my parents would be away on business in Hawaii, shaking hands in between luaus, I jumped at the opportunity to go through their closet. There was a holed up sweatshirt that my dad used to wear before he struck oil and landed a major corporation, before making a wife out of his secretary and bringing her straight to the top. And as appreciative as I was for what long money did for security, abundance, and frivolity...it just didn't comfort me like the coffee stains and the smell of peppermints that still clung to the grey material that symbolized his alumni.

I was fine pulling it over my head and allowing it to fall to my knees. I was content in climbing into their bed and pretending they were there with me, and the source of the warmth was from them instead of their high thread count. But...with none of those things to be the parent to me that I never really experience anymore...

I'm lost.

He claps his hands, taking something out that he keeps hidden from view before he turns on his heel to face me. His predatory eyes rake my paralyzed form, rooted in place as my brain attempted to play catch up.

With nothing short of a dramatic flourish, he whisks out a pair of satin pink slippers, designed to perpetually keep the wearer on their toes. It was engineered to bend you to its will and it hurt like something fierce if they hadn't been broken in, and if you were a stranger to the footwear.

I wasn't.

"If only I had a tutu," he muses.

He kneels before me, grabbing my ankle and shoving my foot into the shoe, lacing up the ribbons as a sick and satisfied smile finds its way onto his lips.

"Now that I've told you part of _my_ story...in exchange..." His eyes flick upward to order mine to stay on his. Demanding my undivided attention.

"In exchange, I want you to dance for me."

* * *

 **FFT (Food For Thought) Which is worse? When your heart bleeds for you, or when it bleeds for someone else?**

* * *

 **Killer Disco Queen: He really isn't xD Haha Well, at least it would have been for a good cause ;) As soon as the idea for a crossword puzzle moment struck me...I knew I just had to come through. I couldn't pass it up. It can only get more bizarre from here. Now you know a little more history behind the house. It wasn't entirely outright...but something dreadful occurred with his 'firefly.'**

* * *

 **SweetLiars: I got inspired to do an openly flawed character after a story I read. But I'm really glad you like it. I knew Rosa was the name for her the moment I saw it. It also points to the race she is, as she's not only Japanese. Right?! The newspaper needs to chill. But thank youuuuu! That's a huge compliment! :D**

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 **Kuramasgirl19769: Thanks! :) And not a problem. ^_^**

* * *

 **Miss. Miyazawa: Can I just tell you that I adore your profile picture? Thumbelina is awesome, especially the song "Let Me Be Your Wings." *.* But thank you for everything you've reviewed! I adore your writing so much, it really makes me happy that you enjoy this. ^_^ I can't wait for you all to find out more about Rosa as she's crafted and her story unfolds.**

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 **See you all for the next chapter! :)**

 **Oh, and Happy (belated) Chinese New Year! Its Kureno's year. Technically.**


	4. Chapter 3: Hallucinatory Spotlight

**Chapter Three: Hallucinatory Spotlight**

I turn on my side, the midnight blue sheets bathing me in their fine silk as I stare at the locked door.

It was strange how everything was slowly becoming less and less...terrible. I mean, the decor was still ugly as sin. But for being kidnapped, I was practically treated like a dancing princess.

I've counted the four sunsets that have happened since I woke up naked in his bed. And three times before the sun dipped behind the horizon's scape, I put on a private ballet recital for Akito.

...

After having been directed to the barre between the two bookcases, my palms wrap around it like a lifeline. Though I flinch and yank my hands back, watching as my hands exude scarlet. I look to him in horror. And my heart pinballs in my chest when a sadistic smile darkens his features.

"Silly me, I must have forgotten to warn you. I neglected to sand it first. Its a little...rough."

"Now." He steps forward, his slimy hands touching my waist as if guiding me into first position. "Show me what you can do, bun head."

I scowl, though I keep silent as I catch a view of the infamous nook in the corner of my eye. And I'm reminded that despite his poor taste, he still is a deeply disturbed killer.

I extend my arms like wings, flattening my feet to the floor like when it was ingrained into me. I remember all the bruises Madame Strict caused me. By pushing me to not just be good or great, but to be the absolute best. All the blisters and callouses and blood were preparing me to compete, to perform, to be accepted. If you'd told four year old me with big ballet dreams that I'd one day have to dance or die, I would have hung up my tutu before I ever started.

Steered by muscle memory, my feet spread apart before crossing, followed by open fourth position. I try to cling to the Pas De Deux streaming from the dusty record player. I try to command my goosebumps into hiding as his presence haunts every follicle and heartbeat. I try to dance my fear and anger and confusion away.

But it feels useless, because I can't keep myself centered. Or focused. I can't escape in the orchestra or the normally thrilling motions of Sissonne.

With the crescendo of the piece, I fall. The dynamic kicks in the moment I lose my balance and he lets me take the beating of the floor. My entire lower body tingles with the drop, though I have no time to so much as say, "Ow," before I'm whisked back up to my feet. And he stalks away to cut the music, lifting the needle.

"Now look what you did," he barks, replacing the record and starting it again. "Start over. And do it right."

I blink in surprise, observing him as he paces about the room frantically, hands twitching. I snap out of my stupor, picking it up from the beginning, though I feel the invasive weight of his stare on me in the instance his neurotic stroll stops.

I do the piece like I was Clara herself, only sans nutcracker. And when I actually start getting into it, reveling in how comforting it is for something familiar to pluck me out and into the calm, away from the eye of the storm...the music ceases abruptly.

"No...no...no!" He howls, his hands gruffly finding its way to his hair as his eyes flash in anger. "You need to do it in the right order!"

What...the heck?

He knew I changed the choreo from the original?

"Start it over," he demands, reactivating the turntable. "And don't pull anything else, either."

...

I close my eyes, my hand enclosing around the silver hanging from my neck. My fingertips touch its now tarnished grooves, unfastening the clasp I could open in my sleep. I peer out of one eye, then both, running my fingers over the picture encased in a locket I never took off.

My name is Rosa, and I'm a cliche sap. Not only that...but I'm a daddy's girl, from my bubblegum pink hair to the dark purple polish on my toes. Most moms want daughters for the sake of dishing about crushes, advising them on periods, and shopping for their prom dress. My mom wanted no children. I...was a mistake. A snafu. Something that was never supposed to be. I clench the trinket in my hand, biting my lip and cursing the tears springing to my eyes.

It was stupid. So, so stupid to be upset. I'm here, aren't I? Daddy stopped her from getting the abortion. Even though he hadn't meant to tell me all of this, he technically didn't. I'd eavesdropped one night they had one of their 'disagreements' as they put them. It was usually correlated to the company they co-owned. But it escalated - as it always does when you mix love, lust, and the workforce - and I came up.

To make a long story short, my mom threw me in his face, because of the only bad grade I ever made happened to occur around the same time. I'm a mistake, she said. Its his fault that I add to her stress. Since he played hero eighteen years ago, its up to him to deal with me. She wanted to end it all before it began.

And that?

That didn't hurt.

It killed.

And I've never looked at her the same way, since.

I release the heart in my hand and let it swing, the image of daddy and I spinning with the motion.

Honestly, Akito wanted me more than she did. Though I hope that thought doesn't summon him. He seemed distracted enough by the TV in the living room. I almost laughed when he told me that he was planning to watch Psycho.

But I wasn't in the mood to be knifed, so I kept quiet and dutifully returned to my room. I'll choose my battles; this one was not worth losing.

I let out a long sigh, feeling my whole weight sink into the old mattress with the burden of all the emotions I've been sacked with. I'm conflicted, lonely, and sad. I miss Uo and my dog and my dad. My Basset Hound was a sleepy headed rascal, but he always curled up in my lap and let me cry into his fur whenever I felt buried beneath everything wrong. Right now, all I could do was smush my face into a satin pillow case, and bleed mascara into the material.

More or less, it bites. It really, really-

"Rosa," Akito says, sealing the door behind him before unbuttoning his trousers.

I startle, not sure why he was here already. I though I'd have at least another hour before the film ended and I'd have to endure his mood swings. And by that, I mean whether he would be a caring lover or a brutal barbarian the moment his clothes fell to the floor and his body met mine.

Everything in me goes rigid, my heart trying to leave me behind as I lay vulnerable to him as he divests of his shirt. Like a snake shedding its skin. I will my eyes to focus on the ceiling, remembering the painful lesson he taught me two sunsets ago. What he'd do if I dared to close my eyes. He wanted to see my baby blues, the way they dilated or grew hazy when he did something I didn't want to like.

As he stroked me and curled his finger, a moan spilled out as my mind fled to a time outside of this moment. Like the last ballet I was in.

I breathe in through my nose when he goes deeper, picturing the way the stage felt beneath me as I twirled across it. The way the room spun as I raised my arms and welcomed applause and roses. I fight the instinct to writhe as my cheeks flush and he bites my neck, his fingers never stopping, even when I can hardly breathe.

I pretend that I'm playing the part of Odette, the Swan Princess. That this was just a sex scene in one of the ballet's acts. That he was making my character feel disgusting and good and crazy, instead of me. And I hate that my lines are pleas of him curing my need, how my delivery consists of pleasured gasps and panic. But I don't yell at him for how he's violating me. I don't shove him away like I would outside of this stage where I'm more than his Barbie doll to screw and toy with.

"Do you like how I feel, Rosa?" He questions darkly, his voice lifting as he smiles against my neck. "If you don't tell me, I'll stop."

My thighs rub together at the mere thought of him not finishing what he started.

He wouldn't dare. This socio got me this far, he can't back out.

...but didn't I want that?

"All I have to do is cuff you, and you can stay like this all night. I, on the other hand, can take care of myself," he taunts, moving his head to look me in the eyes. "You have five seconds to make up your-"

"I want it," I scream, frustrated and loathing myself for it all.

He smirks, his hand venturing to naughty places all over again. "That's not what I wanted to hear. If you want me to help you, you play by my rules."

I gnaw on my lip, stifling the response sitting on my tongue before I threw away whatever dignity I had left.

"Five...four...three..."

He's serious?!

"You feel good, Akito," I say, inhaling sharply when he draws closer.

"Hmm. And do you want me, Rosa? Do you think I'm enough for you?" He wraps my hair around his fist, yanking me close enough that his words hit my lips.

"I'm waiting, beautiful."

"Yes. Gosh. Yes, you're enough."

"And you want me."

I growl at this, torn between smacking him and hooking my legs around him to finish the job myself.

"I want you," I bite out, glowering when he starts chuckling.

"You want who?"

I have to say it.

I can't spend the rest of tonight unfulfilled. I can't take that torture again.

"I want you, Akito."

His ravenous eyes darken further, his hands jerking me towards him by the hips.

"That's what I thought."

And when he finally gives me what my body begs for, it terrifies me more than his warnings and what he told me about himself.

Because I saw a flash of the guy I was attracted to at the club. And how he gave me something that felt sickeningly right in comparison to the guys I used to entertain.

The thing was...this was more than just a role. And this bed was not a backdrop to my show. I should despise him and the fact he created a second act as he did me again.

But...all I could focus on was feeling it instead of hating every minute.

* * *

 **Next chapter is gonna be...interesting. Rough. But interesting**.

* * *

 **Killer Disco Queen** : He's prettyyy crazy and a whole lotta psycho lol Are you starting to see some similarities between him and Rosa. Though he's off the hinges, she can identify with not being enough. Inadequate. The movie I threw in was all for you, my lovely. How are you feeling after this one? And ya noticed the connection did you...? :)

* * *

 **SweetLiars** : I definetely agree with that. I'm dealing with a lot of that, currently. And both definetely have their issues. Though Rosa hates him right now and is scared of him...will it always stay that way? Only time will tell. And thank you! ^_^

* * *

 **Kuramasgirl19769** : Thanks! :)


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